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🦩🌪 | Reddit Dragula - S6E2 "Trailer Trash” PART TWO

A mixture of chatter and complaints bounces off the hollow, flimsy walls of the trailer, where the nine remaining ghouls are packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Smears of foundation, liquid latex and a dozen different setting powders muddy up the chipboard counter tops.
Every available square inch is chaotically packed with beauty cases, wig stands and cans of hairspray.
A glowing neon sign dominates the rear wall of the trailer, reading "PIGS" in a hot pink cursive. It sends streaks and ripples of pink light across the aluminum foil wallpaper.
[URBOSA]: I can barely contour my nose without whacking the queen next to me in the face.
Urbosa pouts in the confessional booth.
[URBOSA]: I just want this field trip to be over.
The camera zooms in on Port Bitch, who is leaning close to the dirty mirror as she applies white pencil to her waterline. Beads of sweat glisten as they roll down her forehead.
"I think you guys have such an unfair advantage this week-" Tucker says to Adam and Mary Wanda, "- being from Texas and Louisiana."
"And what is THAT supposed to mean?" Mary Wanda asks, pulling a sachet of expired ranch dressing from her back pocket and squirting it into her mouth.
[MARY WANDA]: I feel like Tucker is starting to doubt herself and that is NOT very Team Talent of her.
Adam takes a momentary break from playing with his fidget spinner to glance over at his two allies as they attempt to self-produce drama for the cameras.
"Y'know-" Tucker says, "- the theme this week is 'trailer park ghoul', that's literally your style."
"Nononono nono no sweetie, let me make it clear-" Mary Wanda says as she wags her finger, "- I don't need some fancy pants New York City queen coming up in here and telling me I'm-"
Mary Wanda struggles to read some smudged writing on the back of her hand, "- I'm... uh..."
Tucker attempts to mouth Mary Wanda's lines to her.
"- I'm a... bread neck-" Mary Wanda says slowly, following Tucker's lead, "- and my drag is uh... um... TEAM TALENT you fucking BITCH!"
In an attempt to salvage the moment, Mary Wanda goes off script and throws a drink over Tucker.
[TUCKER]: So anyways...
The camera abandons the self-manufactured drama and follows the steady hiss of an airbrush gun.
Sharon applies a topcoat of pink to what appears to be a sheet of human flesh. With each careful layer, she adds a layer of warmth to the synthetic material, making the scars and wrinkles appear less manufactured.
"So Sharon I heard you're from New York-" Confessa says, "-tell us about that."
Tucker's ears prick up at the mention of New York, and she glances over her shoulder.
"New York is a city-" Sharon replies, not taking her eyes off of her handiwork, "- and I live there."
Confessa is unimpressed with her response.
"You know, I got a really cold energy from you-" Confessa says, "- ever since the first time we met."
"Thank you so much-" Sharon replies, a smirk forming on her lips.
The camera catches Grean in the background, dipping into a ziploc bag of popcorn he brought from home.
"Do you think you're going to win with that attitude?" Confessa asks.
"Do you?" Sharon replies.
Eris catches wind of the hostility, and keeps one eye in the mirror as she fills in her lips.
[ERIS]: These two bitches have only known each other for five minutes and they already hate each others guts.
[PRODUCER:] Why do you think that is?
[ERIS]: I don't know, I'm not a fucking psychologist.
"I just think this entire competition-" Confessa starts.
"It's the second challenge-" Sharon corrects her, "- but go on,"
Everyone in the trailer is paying attention to the low-energy conflict.
"This entire competition you've been acting really cocky-" Confessa says, "- and it's really not cute."
Sharon swivels around on her stool, making eye contact with Confessa for the very first time.
"What I think is actually going on, is that you're upset you didn't win the last challenge-" Sharon explains, "- and you're taking your frustration out on me because you feel threatened-"
"- I don't-" Confessa starts, but Sharon shushes her.
"- even though you REALLY want to take it out on Mr. Congeniality over there-" Sharon says, gesturing to Grean, "- but you know that if you do, everybody will think you're a nasty piece of shit."
"That is a lie-" Confessa immediately turns to Grean, "- you're my LA brother, I'd never discredit your drag!"
There's a dramatic whoosh as we're treated to a black and white flashback from the previous episode.
"And the winner is..." Smac announces, "... Grean Tee Fairfax!"
Confessa immediately yanks her hand away from his.
[CONFESSA]: Did I miss something?
Confessa sits in the confessional booth silently for an uncomfortable length of time.
The clip dissolves, moving into the Boudoir where the cast are raising a glass to Grean's win.
“But let it be known that I ALMOST won!” Confessa bleats.
“Almost-” Sharon adds, “-which still means you didn’t.”
[CONFESSA]: I don’t know why Sharon feels the need to be an input hoe. That was completely unnecessary.
[PRODUCER:] Unnecessary like pointing out how you almost won?
[CONFESSA:] That’s completely different.
The clip dissolves once more with another whoosh as we return to the present day.
"I would never!" Confessa repeats, "-never ever!"
"I believe you!" Grean replies, taking both of her hands, "- one thousand percent!"
Sharon rolls her eyes and resumes airbrushing her latex.
"At the end of the day, we didn't get brought here to point fingers-" Urbosa says, interrupting the heated discussion, "- we were bought here to compete, so I suggest you all drop it."

A rusty blood moon hangs in the endless back sky.
The wind picks up ever so slightly, the withered branches above start to rustle. A lone tumbleweed rolls across the cracked dirt, scratching up small clouds of dust. Wind chimes jingle ominously in the distance. Flies buzz about in the darkness.
There's a crackle of electricity as a neon light comes to life.
An uppercase T.
A fly hovers into it receives a lethal shock.
It blinks for a moment, faltering every so slightly before other letters alongside it begin to light up, casting a dense bug zapper blue glow across the derelict scene.
the floorshow music begins to play...
Bright embers float on the heat. Hot flames crackle and lap up the oxygen, releasing the toxic fumes of burnt rubber into the atmosphere.
The back-lit silhouettes of nine ghouls stand before the blazing mountain of tires.
Across from them is the imposing red throne where Smacahoe sits in her Tonya Harding costume, a lit Marlboro Red between her fingers.
"If I call your name-" Smacs says, "- please step forward."
Urbosa steps into the harsh blue light. She presents herself in a poised fashion, but she seems annoyed. It's not clear whether or not she's upset with her placement or is fed up of the trailer park and it's lack of luxuries.
"Eris Opulent."
Eris joins Urbosa, similarly disheartened.
"Congratulations, the two of you have survived this round of the competition-" Smac says, "- please go wait in the Pink Flamingo Trailer."
[ERIS]: I feel like I definitely stood out, but apparently I'm wrong.
The two queens nod and vacate the area, quickly disappearing into the shadows.
The seven remaining queens step forward into the light, glancing up and down the line at their competitors.
"The rest of you-" Smac announces, "- represent the strongest and the weakest of the cast."
Smac turns her head to the left of the line, ready to give the first of many critiques.
First up is Grean Tee Fairfax.
"This was a really great week for you-" Smac says, "- you definitely went in a more kitsch and tongue-in-cheek direction, your concept was clear, reasonably well executed and never fell flat or got lost. If you can maintain the level that you're currently working at and strive towards being a bit more streamlined, there's no reason you can't be in the top every single challenge."
[GREAN]: Holy moly, stromboli! It's so good to hear that I'm doing good in this competition... I just want everyone to know that I make a porchetta that you won't forgetta.
The producer sighs.
[GREAN]: My seafood is so fresh it'll slap ya... Peace, love and taco grease...
[PRODUCER]: Are you finished?
[GREAN]: I'm takin' you on a road rockin' trip down to Flavortown, where the-
"I can tell at this point that your drag is very laid back, tongue-in-cheek and referential, and that you use a lot of separates and prosthetics-" Smac says, "- but I'm going to challenge you - when appropriate - to show me your range and present me with some pure glamour."
"Yes m'am-" Grean says, "- thanks."
Next up is Mary Wanda Montclair.
"For my own clarification-" Smac says, "- can you please describe this look to me?"
Mary Wanda gulps and takes a moment to compose herself before stepping forward, allowing Smac to take in her look.
"So I've spent most of my life living in various trailer parks-" Mary Wanda explains, "-and I'm giving you trailer park realness with my curves and swerves just letting y'all have it."
"No-" Smac says, sternly wagging a finger, "- this is absolutely nowhere near good enough. Get back in line."
[MARY WANDA]: I'm just trying to show her the real me.
Next in line is Confessa Murder.
"Your presentation this week was smart and vividly detailed, it's becoming apparent to me that no matter your concept, your execution is going to be top notch-" Smac says, "- everything from the special effects you applied, to the way you dressed the set really meshed together and told a complete story."
Confessa smiles.
"It'll be very interesting to see how you deal with the upcoming challenges, as your responses thus far - whilst strong - have been very literal," Smac explains, "- was doing a meth lab explosion on theme? Absolutely. Did it change the game? No."
Confessa's face cracks.
"If you can elevate your concepts to the point where they are just as exciting and impressive as your execution-" Smac says, "- you'll be unstoppable."
Next is Adam.
"So Adam-" Smac says, "- please explain to me why you're standing here half-assed and half-finished."
"Uh... well... uh..." Adam says, rubbing the back of his head, " - I uh... ran out of time I guess? Like... yeah?"
"Do you think the time I gave you to complete the challenge wasn't enough?" Smac asked.
Adam looks at his feet, knowing that there wasn't a correct answer to this question.
"Uh... no, not really-" Adam says, "- I guess there could have been more time. Yeah..."
"Tell that to the winner of this challenge-" Smac says, "- next."
Tucker Telephone is next.
"Hi Tucker-" Smac says.
"Hey bitch." Tucker responds.
"I like how you embraced the theme, and I thought it was very clever and twisted of you to incorporate heavy Wizard of Oz vibes with your death-by-tornado-" Smac says, "- I think you're definitely starting to emerge as a strong competitor, and the way you marry a childish whimsy with such adult themes really makes you stand out."
"I'm going to offer you the same advice as I did to Confessa-" Smac says, "- It's always important to pay attention to the theme, but there's such a thing as being too literal, too textbook, and too safe. Really take advantage of your time here to experiment with your concepts and embrace being unpredictable."
Sharon Taint is next up.
"There was so much character and narrative here, you've proven that you have this really great knack for telling a story-" Smac says, "- this concept - whilst simple - felt elevated to the point where I was wondering where you'd go next, and what other situations you could realistically find yourself in."
Sharon sighs with relief.
[SHARON]: Being the glamorous type, I really wasn't looking forward to doing a haunted trailer park challenge... but I'm pretty sure I killed it.
"I think you're incredibly gifted at breathing life into your concepts-" Smac says, "- I want to know more about the macabre world that exists within Sharon Taint's mind."
"I'm noticing that your looks tend to me more on the toned down and simple side-" Smac says, "- so I'd like to see if you're capable of producing something more 'high concept' in future challenges."
Last but not least is Port Bitch.
"I'm going to be brutally honest with you-" Smac says, "- I forgot you were even in this season. As a drag queen, you should command the stage, but even now as I'm critiquing you I find you fading into the background."
Port smiles blankly.
"This isn't the kind of competition where flying under the radar works-" Smac explains, "- if I can't see, hear or remember you, you've already broken the cardinal rules of being an entertainer, and that's being boring and forgettable."
"Sharon Taint-" Smac calls, "- Confessa Murder..."
Grean gives a double thumbs up to his LA sister as she steps out of the lineup.
"The two of you burnt this challenge to the ground..." Smac says, "... you are the top two monsters of the week."
[CONFESSA]: I don't know why Sharon's in the top with me, she's definitely not at my level.
Confessa smiles, extending a hand to Sharon in a show of solidarity. Sharon ignores her.
[CONFESSA]: But then again - I'm winning this challenge, so it doesn't really matter to me who comes second.
[SHARON]: If Confessa actually wins this time, we'll never hear the fucking end of it.
Smac takes an exaggerated drag from her cigarette for dramatic effect.
"Sadly, only one of you can be the strongest-" Smac says, "- and the winner is..."
"Sharon Taint!"
Sharon dips ever so slightly, giving a minuscule curtsy as everyone - barring Confessa - claps.
[SHARON]: I'm still from New York, and I'm definitely still better than you.
Sharon casts her gaze to one side, and smirks when she feels the sheer attitude radiating from Confessa.
Confessa's fingers audibly crack as she clenches her fists.
"Sharon you rotted whore-" Smac says, "- get the fuck outta here."
With an elegant flick of her neck, Sharon tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder as she leaves.
The camera zooms in close to reveal blood dripping from Confessa's knuckles. She'd stabbed herself with her own manicure.
"Confessa, Tucker, Grean-" Smac says, "-amazing work this week. Please join the others in the trailer."
[TUCKER]: Two thirds of Team Talent are up for extermination, which means I should probably start being nice to all these other hoes.
Tucker places a reassuring hand on Mary Wanda's shoulder before she heads backstage.
Grean goes to high-five Confessa, but she quickly storms off and leaves him hanging.
After a painfully awkward six or seven seconds, he high fives himself with his spare hand before running to catch up with the others.
The production lights darken.
The atmosphere grows tense.
Three ghouls remain, their shadows stretching and dancing in the blazing glow of the tire fire.
[MARY WANDA]: I'm not letting these ass eaters drag me down with them, no fucking way!
Mary Wanda steps forward and clears her throat.
"What I think the judges aren't seeing-" Mary Wanda says, "- is that Port is a complete bitch and-"
Smac fires a pistol into the air, cutting Mary Wanda off mid-sentence. The gunshot echoes through the desert, prompting some nearby nesting birds to take off in flight.
"Cathe-" Smac says coldly, "- you're going off script."
Mary Wanda nods, stepping out of the urine puddle at her cankles and returning to her mark.
Smac takes a deep breath and composes herself, taking a long drag from her Marlboro Red.
"Port Bitch-" Smac says, "- you've yet to make your mark here, and at this rate you probably never will."
"Mary Wanda Montclair-" Smac says, "- your homecoming thus far has been entirely underwhelming."
"Adam-" Smac says, "- it's becoming clear to me now that you're not cut out for this competition."

The heavy smell of artificial pineapple and coconut lingers in the sticky air.
A crooked peel-and-stick wallpaper showcases the unblemished white sands and mouthwash blue surf of a Thai beach. Nailed abruptly to the middle of the mural is a campy tiki-style sign, displaying the words 'Turn + Burn Tanning Salon' in a bubbly font.
The UVR bulbs of the tanning bed flicker on, filling the narrow space with a hot glue glow. A scuffed, faded sticker on the glossy white veneer states that equipment was last safety tested in 2005. A cautionary sign is nailed to the wall behind it, warning prospective tanners not to touch the temperature dial.
A tall figure steps through the gaudy beaded curtain, unceremoniously tossing their distressed denim jacket over the back of a chair. After dimming the lights, they proceed to drop their car keys into an over sized clam shell and take a sip from their slurpee.
Beads of moisture run down the cup, dripping onto the tanning bulbs with an audible sizzle.
The individual taps away at the cracked screen of their iPhone, bringing up a playlist on Spotify Free. Moments later, the room fills with the celestial tones of Bratitude. Satisfied, Adam puts on the protective goggles, the elastic pinging his temples.
Frayed denim shorts slide down his tanned, hairy legs, falling into a heap at his size thirteen man feet. It's joined later by a musky jockstrap.
Adam slides into the tanning booth, the scorching glow changing the complexion of his pool boy body to a chlorine green. Quickly applying some Crest whitening strips to his crooked teeth, he leans back, body glistening, and pulls down lid shut, sealing him inside.
He wiggles his toes in time to the music, blissfully unaware of a stranger entering the room, inches away from him as the bulbs cook his flesh. A pair of handcuffs dangle from their belt.
A gloved hand unclips them.
It's only when the stranger practically twists the temperature dial off the wall that Adam realises he's not alone.
"Dude, not cool-" Adam groans, "- I'm tryna get my tan on."
No response. It was getting uncomfortably hot.
"You gotta like wait your turn just like everybody else my dude."
Adam frowns, and turns his head, squinting through the plastic goggles.
"Alright-" Adam hisses, and pushes his palms against the lid of the tanning bed.
It lifts barely an inch before springing back, chains rattling.
"The fuck?"
Adam pushes again, the bulbs glowing brighter and hotter, burning his fingertips.
"Fuck! Let me out!"
Adam's hands and feet beat desperately against the surface, the non-stick coating starting to bubble and hiss. He let out a scream as a layer of skin tore away from his left ass cheek, sizzling on the bulbs.
He was post-verbal at this point. Letting out nothing but unintelligible cries for help and tortured screams of pain.
The stranger admired their handiwork for a moment, before remembering one final detail.
Standing up on their tippy toes, they tampered with the smoke alarm on the ceiling, placing the batteries in their back pocket. With that done, they picked up the discarded slurpee and poured it directly into the wiring.
There was a nasty crackle and a small shower of sparks, before a plume of black smoke rose from the ventilation.
Adam let out a vicious scream as glass began to pop and shatter from the heat.
Satisfied, the stranger picked up Adam's car-keys and left as the smell of roasted pork hung about in the dry air.

The warm glow of a dying bonfire casts long, crooked shadows through the grass. Embers float, spiraling upwards towards the dense canopy of leaves above. The singing of cicadas echoes through the brush and twisted oaks, whilst a stray gust of wind causes the branches to bow and whisper.
As the bonfire slowly collapses in upon itself, the only light in the clearing comes from a lantern within a pop-up tent. The artificial glow illuminating a half-dozen crushed beer cans littering the forest floor. A retro eighties boombox sits precariously on the edge of a log.
The flimsy, nylon interior is awash with light. A figure sits upright, the lower half of their body cocooned within the confines of a yellow sleeping bag. A dainty, manicured hand dips into a bowl of sour cream and chive flavored popcorn.
All we can hear is the sound of chewing and the occasional crisp turn of a page.
The title of the campers glossy paperback reads ‘Charisma For Dummies - Going From Drab To Fab’. They flick to the next page, carelessly blotting the paper with artificial flavoring. They follow the line with their pinky finger, squinting in the artificial light.
The abrupt snapping of a twig causes them to lose their place.
They freeze for a moment, a chill running the length of their backbone. Their breath catches in the back of their throat, the slightest wheeze cutting through the silence as their mind rapidly conjures up a dozen slasher movie scenarios. As if on autopilot they find their hand reaching for the lantern, fumbling awkwardly for a moment before plunging the tent into darkness.
A small eternity seems to pass. Nothing happens.
Port Bitch leans back in her sleeping bag, bundled up tight like an Eskimo. She lets out a lone sigh of relief, amused at herself for immediately thinking the worst.
With a click of a button, the boombox comes to life. The moonlit clearing is filled with the raucous sound of ZZ Top.
“What the-”
A serrated hunting knife pierces through the nylon. The man-made fibers letting out a cat's purr as they split apart creating a large, gaping hole. Port let out a shrill scream, the muscles in her neck pulling taut like guitar strings. Two gloved hands reached towards her, prompting her to instinctively bury herself deeper in the sleeping bag.
The stranger hauled the yellow sleeping bag through the hole in the side of the tent, Port’s muffled screams coming from within as her body hit the ground, sending empty beer cans flying every which way.
The stranger dragged the sleeping bag across the ground for a moment, Port’s body writhing frantically within, causing her to resemble a giant maggot. The stranger cracked their knuckles before grabbing their victim by the ankles, her screaming and bucking only intensifying.
They let out a groan as they lifted her up off the ground, then, leaning back one ankle and mustering up all their strength, they swung her into the gnarled trunk of a nearby oak tree. Port’s screaming was immediately cut short, the grisly echo of her skull cracking echoed throughout the clearing.
The cicadas hushed in response.
The stranger threw the sleeping bag down against the ground, sending up a cloud of dust. Port’s limp head and shoulders fell out the opening, her blood-soaked face cracked open like an egg.
The stranger stepped over the tightly wrapped bundle of limbs, taking a seat near the dying bonfire. With a gloved hand they reached into a bag of jumbo marshmallows, and begin delicately placing them on a skewer.
submitted by perlementhe to RDragula

Problem Passing JQuery Slider Values To Flask

I've been following an example to add a slider to my website (see https://codepen.io/jackiejohnston/full/NNrpjQ). I've used a form to add this slider into one of my HTML pages as below...


I've been trying to access the values for 'min-value' and 'max-value' using request.form.get('min-value') on my flask app

u/app.route('/smac', methods=['GET', 'POST']) def smac(): if request.method == 'POST': print(request.form.get('min-value')) return render_template('smac.html') 
However, nothing prints out which i'm guessing is due to the value="" printing nothing which suggests that value is not updating correctly. I cannot really see why this wouldnt update with the function though. Does anyone see why this wouldnt directly work?
submitted by Surprisely to flask

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